


Finding Peace

by ks_villain



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ks_villain/pseuds/ks_villain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time after the war and the end of the Reaper threat, two old friends meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anathema15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathema15/gifts).



> Some of Zaeed's lines were stolen from the actual game. Beware of the usual amount of foul language and narrated violence. Overall, this might be a bit on the fluffy side, though.

“And what happened then?” 

Zaeed would not have though it possible, but the big, ugly brute of a merc with his tattoos and scars sounded a bit like an eager schoolboy, staring at him all wide-eyed and dying to hear the rest of his bed-time story. 

Ugh. He quickly shook off the thought and emptied his glass, before launching back into his story. 

“Then this hotshot turian ignores my hand signal... and gets hit straight through the visor.”

The assembled mercs, smugglers and other unsavoury folks around Zaeed made appreciative noises and leaned even closer. 

His audience had grown, Zaeed noted with a quick glance. Two humans, soldiers by the look of them, one krogan and an especially ugly batarian... Almost none of them had touched their own drinks, they were too busy staring at him, listening with rapt attention. Which was a shame, really, the stuff was rather good. 

“His side kick got it worse, the little jerk. Sniper shot him in the balls,” Zaeed continued.

He was still getting used to this. Not the attention, no, he usually got people's attention well enough when he stepped inside a room, but the way people looked at him was _different_. 

Yeah all right, he was a fucking hero now. Every since the battle for Earth, things had been like this. Wherever he went -- from the parks of the Citadel to the seediest bars of Omega – people were trying to talk to him, asking him all kinds of stupid questions, when all he wanted was to have a few drinks in peace... 

“Made a mess like you wouldn't believe,” Zaeed grunted dismissively, scratching his chin. 

They were all hanging on his every word, he realized, mesmerized by his story and eager to hear more. He didn't much care for their hero worship, but considering that the fanboys kept paying for the steady flow of alcohol... well, Zaeed Massani was not one to say no to a free drink.

“It's like they were expecting the slavers to hand out business cards instead of bullets,” Zaeed said.

A shiver ran down the length of his spine as he noticed all four of the batarian's eyes gazing at him worshipfully. Great, he was not nearly drunk enough for any of this bullshit. 

He helped himself to yet another shot of the brandy – damn good stuff, must have been really expensive. Nothing Zaeed could have afforded before he happened to become one of the god-damn saviours of the galaxy, that was for sure. He had no idea where they got stuff like that in a place like this.

One of the humans, a dirty wretch with a stubby beard, leaned forward in his seat and burst out: “And you shot the guy? “

Zaeed snorted. “The sniper? Nah, blew the god-damn tower sky high with him still inside. Bastard never saw it coming.”

Completely impervious to the admiring stares he was receiving, he helped himself to yet another glass. Or yeah, maybe he was not not _totally_ unaffected. It was kind of nice to have people who were actually listening to him, who really wanted to hear one of his stories for a change...

Damn, Zaeed thought, he was getting too soft. This whole peace thing was really doing a number on him. There had been no good fighting for months, no interesting jobs, no bounty that was worthy of his time. Everybody was still busy rebuilding and being all friendly and shit... 

Hell, he would have even been glad for a good old-fashioned bar fight by now. Sadly, no one seemed interested in starting one. 

Zaeed shook his head. Hundreds of thousands had been killed by the reapers... and some of these days he had no idea why he was still here. He had been ready to go. He'd have never imagined that he would survive the war at all, least of all that he would end up here in this dirty pisshole of a bar. 

Noticing that his glass was empty again, he blinked a few times and tried to ignore the fuzziness that was starting to creep up on his field of vision. The stuff was stronger than it looked, he had to admit. 

But back to the story, all right. What had happened after he had blown up the tower again? Oh yeah. Almost everyone in his squad had been killed. The usual. 

“It all went to shit after that. We jammed their radio equipment, but the slavers …” He trailed off as he noticed a movement from the corner of his eyes, instinct telling him to grab his gun under the table (fuck peace, you could never be too careful in a place like this). 

The attention of his audience was faltering, dividing between him and the newcomer, who strode straight towards their table with slow, determined steps. Without a word, the asari stepped into the dim light of his private lounge. 

As soon everyone had caught onto her presence, it became unnaturally quiet. Zaeed immediately let go of his weapon and relaxed back into his seat. The reaction of everyone else could not have been more different. No matter the species, they all collectively froze in shock, their expressions almost comical. Zaeed would have laughed, had his attention not also been firmly caught by the asari's solemn gaze. 

She was as beautiful as he remembered. Nah, beautiful wasn’t even close to doing her justice. She almost seemed to glow from within. Even in the middle of a dirty bar she was exuding dignity, elegance and a sense of authority that was impossible to miss. 

From the second she stepped into the lounge, all eyes were on her. And just from looking at her, everybody knew _what_ she was. A veteran of a hundred battles, a professional hunter, one who would have no mercy with whoever she was after. 

“What's a fucking justicar doing here?” he heard someone choke out to his left, but Zaeed couldn’t take his eyes off her long enough to check who it was. 

A bunch of battle-hardened soldiers and ruthless mercenaries the patrons of the bar might be, yet suddenly they all tried to sink a bit deeper into the shadows. Zaeed could smell their fear. He knew they were all hoping that she had not come here for them. 

She stopped right in front of his table. “Zaeed Massani.” It was no question. 

“You bet you sweet asari ass.”

All heads whipped back towards him. This time there was no admiration in the stunned faces, just plain disbelief and shock. They all clearly thought he was mad. Those nearest to him on the plushy couch were slowly edging away from him, as if to bring a little distance between themselves and the crazy old man who dared speak to an asari justicar in such a tone.

If she was insulted by his manner of speech, however, she did not show it. “We have unfinished business to discuss.” 

“So it would seem, sweetheart.” 

The justicar's expression remained serene. Her cold eyes took in the men and women surrounding Zaeed's table. 

It was as if she could look right into their souls. When she inclined her head towards the exit, they got up one by one and hurried out as fast as they could. They needed no further prompting. To his credit, the young krogan at least had the grace to throw one last glance in the direction of his idol, half admiring and half embarrassed, but not even he was brave enough to back him up against a justicar.

Within a few minutes, everyone had left the lounge. The asari's expression softened somewhat. It was barely visible, but Zaeed had learned to read the subtle signs of her emotions, and he noticed the amused twist of her lips, the small shift of her shoulders that indicated she was a playful mood; well as playful as it was possible for a justicar to be. 

“You should not entice them to a life of violence and crime.” Samara gently shook her head.

Not many would have been able to tell that she was joking. Zaeed just shrugged and gave a husky bark of laughter. 

“Oh come on, they're just a bunch of kids ... and you probably scared them for life, so no worries there.”

Now that they were face to face for the first time in months, he realised that she had changed. It was subtle, but it was undeniable. Events had changed them all, he mused, but peace rather seemed to suit her. Even if she had once told him that – for a justicar – there was no such thing as peace.

Spreading his arms in a gesture of mock surrender, Zaeed sat up in a more upright position, patting his thigh and motioning at his lap. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come have a seat, beautiful.”

There was no one left to gape, but Zaeed was rather shocked himself when she actually did as he suggested. For a few moments the reality of her, their unexpected meeting and the fact that she was suddenly so close to him, seemed awfully unrealistic. It was so absurd that he really thought it could have been just an alcohol induced hallucination. 

Whatever else this new age would bring, Zaeed knew he would definitely never get used to this. Her warm and solid weight, straddling his armoured legs, fitting so perfectly against him, coming so willingly into his arms. 

Up this close, he could feel her power, flowing from her like perfume, surrounding her like an aura. It was like having a deadly weapon in your lap. Oh, Zaeed liked this line of thought, he liked it very much.

“Talking about kids, how's _your_ kid?” he rasped.

“Falere is doing well. It was good to see her again.” Her eyes dropped from his face for a second, focusing inward as she remembered. ”It might be unbecoming of a justicar to spend so much time with her loved ones, but I must confess that I missed her.”

“And what about your old squadmate Zaeed? Didn't miss him at all, huh?”

This time Samara smiled for real. A small, indulgent smile, but it was such a rare thing for her, and he had been the cause of it and that was all that mattered. No one else had seen her smile like this in what was probably a few hundred years. 

Zaeed found his gaze drawn to her lips and his pulse spiked in a way that it normally only did in the brief moment before the first shot was fired. She shifted on his lap, and his hands came up to her hips to hold her steady. 

He remembered the first time he'd held Samara on the ravaged battlefield of Earth. It had been like hugging a statue, an unyielding, unresponsive and tense asari statue. He had cursed himself immediately for his madness... but Zaeed had always been more stubborn than was good for him. And the recent near death experience had made him blow all caution to the wind. 

He had not given in or backed down until she relented. After what must have been the longest and most embarrassing moments of his life, she had finally softened and awkwardly returned the embrace. 

Samara seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts, and – leaning a bit closer – took his face between her hands. He could feel her warm breath on his scarred face. 

With that same infuriatingly serene tone of voice she continued: “Of course, some would consider this to be unbecoming of a justicar as well.” 

She kissed him then, tilted his head to one side and pressed her soft, persistent mouth against his. Her tongue slid out, tasting the alcohol on his chapped and rough lips, but her kiss remained unhurried and firm.

Zaeed jut held on to her shoulder and let her do as she pleased. All he could think for a moment was that her body felt so different now, so calm and relaxed, and the thought filled his chest with strange warmth. He told himself that was just the alcohol. 

When they separated, Zaeed realized he was panting a bit. Quickly, he tore his gaze away from the pale, all too knowing eyes and poured them both another glass of brandy, handing her the cleaner one. He did not want her to know how many hours he had spent thinking of her while she was gone, but he suspected she knew anyway.

“I don't suspect you are here on this scrapheap just because of me,” he ground out with some difficulty, still trying to calm his pulse. 

Samara eyed the glass with a mix of disdain and careful interest. 

“Frankly, I had hoped that you would ask. There is a dangerous fugitive, hiding somewhere in the upper industrial sector. I have followed her all the way from asari space to bring her to justice.”

Zaeed's hand wandered from her hip to his rifle under the table, stroking the barrel lovingly. 

“I expect heavy resistance,” Samara continued.

Now it was his turn to smile. It was as honest a smile as Zaeed Massani was capable of. He knew of course that she could have dealt with an entire army on her own, but he appreciated the sentiment. 

“I had hoped you would say something like that, sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dear recipient, I hope you enjoyed my attempt at giving them a happy ending of sorts. Even if there was no smut. ;)
> 
> Many thanks to my beta-reader [mha_chan](http://ambyr.livejournal.com/profile).


End file.
